Pastor Wrinkles: What I Learned From Pictures

2011 was a year of many changes for me. It was also the first full year of learning how to put pictures on “Reinventing the We’ll.”  Let’s see what happened shall we?

In January I moved back to my childhood home.

You may remember my fight with the black berries at Muddy’s house. in the spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And the building of the “Pseudo-Elizabethan” garden. I learned that reclaiming and rebuilding territory is not a quick process.

 

 

 

 

 

In June I was relieved of my duties as interim youth pastor by one of my students who was newly credentialed and married. I am so blessed to have Pastor Brad and his wife Cassie on board!

 I got a great gift out of the deal and a name that has served me well since! I learned God wastes nothing, not even a good joke.

 

All three kids came home for a brief visit this summer. They still call this home but more and more their lives seem to be elsewhere.

 

 

I got to visit my brother-in-law and sister-in-law at their home in Maine…my first alone vacation. Weird! Yet in the midst of all the changes I learned that  family will always be family.

 

 These lessons all came between the wild storms of course!

 

 

 

I have wondered often about the clouds this year. What do they speak about our future? I can only say that change is definitely in the wind!

 

That notion of course was totally borne out by the fact that Christmas came at Halloween both outside and in. We had to celebrate early! After all Duddy was moving to Amsterdam to begin her career as a missionary.

So lots of changes in 2011. Virtually nothing went untouched. Some of the changes I am barely ready to look at…others I have embraced and walked into; Most I am still on the fence about. Truthfully though how I feel about ’em doesn’t really matter. I can take the snapshot and freeze forever the memory of the moment but in the end the picture is not life. No… life is that thing that draws us on into the unknown. It’s the thing we haven’t seen or photographed yet. Life makes us stand on the precious resources of memory and experience so that we may reach the hopes and possibilities it holds out to us.

     As I look at the year in pictures I see a year I never could have predicted. I guess I have learned to better hold my breath because prophet that I am I have no idea what adventure lies around the next corner.

You Choose the View Pt. 2

“And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten…” Joel 2:25 KJV  

 Life seldom asks our advice; It just sort of decides what’s next for us. Some things are beyond our control. We don’t begin them and we will not be the ones to make them stop. We can only decide how we will respond as we are forced to take the ride.

     What is it you’re facing right now? a deadly diagnosis, the death of a loved one, divorce, the empty nest, a chronic illness, financial ruin, job promotion, recovery after surgery, a child’s return home, a new marriage, a new course of treatment: All change can be daunting because it requires something of us. So often we wish the change away. We forget that God would use it to hone who we are. We don’t control life’s twists and turns, but we do control our responses to them. Our responses determine what we become: Godly responses reinvent us into the image of God; Ungodly responses reinvent us into something less than we were to begin with. Either way we are reinvented.

      God’s point in change is to restore what has been taken from us by the world, the flesh, and the devil. We have to let Him in if that restoration is to begin.

     One area He would right and restore within us is our ability to commit. Every change is an opportunity for us to examine our commitments. 

     I’ve taken many opportunities in this blog to talk about the crazy, complicated lives we Americans live. God did not invent or intend the 24/7 lifestyle; That was all us.

    At the root of this life of complicated rush is a problem with commitment. Somewhere along the line someone told us we could do anything if we were just committed enough. That’s a lie. God can do anything. You can successfully do what God has made you to do. The problem is that some of us have confused ourselves with God. We’ve begun to think that we have an infinite source of commitment; So we just keep committing to more and more, complicating our lives until we are half mad with weariness.

     Sometimes change is God trying to make us realize we need to detach from some of our commitments so that we can become what He really intended for us. Such change is never welcomed at first. It requires us to admit that we can’t do it all. We have to tumble to the fact we aren’t God!

    If you are in a major life-change now why don’t you take some time and reevaluate your commitments to see if they are in line with what the King wants. Ask yourself:

1. Am I over-committed in any area of my life?

2. Is there something I am doing which I was not called to be committed to?

3. Are my current commitments keeping me from something else God really wants me to be doing?

Here’s to letting the Lord restore us in the area of our commitments! May you find the path of peace!

You Choose the View

         Last Sunday I pulled a muscle while leading worship. Remember how I said my life was ironic? I couldn’t pull a bicep while playing baseball or by saving a baby from the jaws of a vicious dog….Ohhh nooo! I had to pull a neck muscle while hitting a high f! I’m pretty sure no one is going to give me a medal of valor for that one…Hah!

     Anyway, this series of posts has been dogging me for about two weeks and I haven’t known how to start it. I guess this is as good a beginning to my story as any.

     My head hasn’t let me forget my sissy wound since that service. On Tuesday after two Tylenol and an 800 milligram Motrin failed to calm my complaining grey matter I decided it was time to try taking a nap.

     As I laid my aching head on the pillow in my room a heavy rain began to fall outside my window.

     God asked, “What do you see?”

     “Rain.” I said.

     “You choose the view.” He continued.

      As I look at this picture, I am amazed that I did not see the trees that sloped so gracefully skyward or the elegant curve of the red-tiled roof outside my daughter’s window. I saw only the rain, the one thing my camera didn’t really pick up as I look at it now.

     Life-change is sort of like rain. It draws our attention. It would have us focus all our energy on itself to the extent that we lose our view of everything else that is going on in the background. If we focus on it too much life-change can bring us down. 

     Change itself is always unsettling because it steals our rhythm. It makes us feel uncertain and afraid of what lies ahead. Yet God is always working behind the change. If we can just look through the heavy mists we will see a world of blessing that is being washed and nourished by the very thing that is making us so nervous.

    Changing your view doesn’t make change less difficult. It just helps you to see that the difficulty has a purpose…a reason. It’s not all for nothing! God has a plan.

    In the next few days we will be talking about how change effects attitude, commitment, goals, relationship, and health. It’s not set in stone. Remember you choose the view!

 

 

The Newness Of Wrinkles

     Old youth pastors never die they just….Well O.K. they do die. But

this old youth pastor named “Wrinkles” is not quite finished with his bucket thank you very much!

     I am, however slowly emptying my bucket of all things “youthy”. The young man who is my replacement is now fully in place! 🙂

The Replacement, Pastor Brad yay!!!!

     My new role while not yet fully defined will involve worship and the arts (hence the Cornerstone Christian Artist Community) and pastoral care. More music… more teaching… more visiting… and more team-building. This is going to be a blast!

I can’t wait to see what the newness of Wrinkles shall be!

 

Regret: The Good School Marm

     In Streeter Middle School where I was forced to go as a child (after all nobody chooses to go to Middle School) there was a teacher nobody wanted to have. We called her “Big Bad Bood”. Her real name was Mrs. Boudreau and she owned the reputation of being four and a half feet of pure mean. She taught algebra.

     I began having nightmares about her at the end of seventh grade which continued all through the summer right up until the time I started eighth grade in September. I dreamed about being hit with rulers because I couldn’t balance equations. I dreamed about being forced to inhale nose spray because I didn’t know the difference between positive and negative integers (I know weird :roll:).

    Anyway September came and I met “Big Bad Bood”. She passed out our algebra books and warned us that we would have them covered by next class or face detention. She gave us homework that day and told us how to do it. She taught with no-nonsense and gave us clear direction about what she expected. She answered questions directly and told us “The only stupid question is the one you never ask”.  I learned by the end of day one I had been frightened all summer of someone I actually liked! She was tough. She was a disciplinarian. But if you were willing to work you had nothing to fear.

      I am finding as I enter mid-life that regret is a lot like Mrs. Boudreau. As a young man I never wanted to have regret  just like I never wanted to have algebra. But I have found that regret is a part of life just like algebra is a part of eighth grade. You can’t get through life without it; That’s just part of being an imperfect human being.

    Regret is tough. Regret is a disciplinarian. Regret is a good school marm. It exists to teach us something. If we are willing to learn regret can become a friend rather than a foe. It’s when we sit and do nothing but curse our regret that she turns into four and a half feet of pure mean.

     Listen, we’ve all got regret. It’s how much you resist her teachings that determines how much pain she is going to cause!

What is your regret trying to teach you?

 

Moxie Day!

      I have learned that people like to celebrate, you know, take time off from the normal hum of life. Even if we really like our work, there is nothing quite like departing from the day-to-day for a break away.

     The people of “Vacationland”, Maine have come up with another reason to celebrate and relax: “MOXIE DAY!

     Never heard of Moxie? I’m not surprised it’s a New England thing sort of like fat back or fried okra for you southerners or poi for you Pacific oceaneers.

     Moxie is a soda you will only find in New England and it’s one of those things you either love or hate…there is no middle ground. I grew up drinking Moxie so over time I acquired a love for the curiously strong beverage. When asked about the flavor I usually remark “It tastes sort of like sweetened pennies!”

     Anyway the people in Maine have dedicated a whole day to the celebration of moxie. if you google Moxie Day you will find out that they are calling the soda “Maine in a bottle”.

     In Waldosboro they are celebrating by having free give aways off the “moxiemobile” that will travel through town. Lisbon Falls has a whole day of bands and dance troupes planned, finishing up with fireworks! It’s a big deal! I was a week early for the festivities…too bad I love Moxie!

     Last weekend I learned celebration is a necessity not an option. If people can’t find a reason to kick back and enjoy they will make one up!

     What crazy things does your part of the world celebrate?

I Am Become Disney World!

     There are many interesting changes which come with mid-life and the empty nest.

     Some of the changes have been rather jarring. For instance: the inability to get back to 200 hundred pounds without amputation of limbs, or this new thing about not being able to drink coffee after 9 without getting heartburn (truly terrifying).

    Certain changes, on the other hand, have been very gratifying: The idea that I am no longer “the rookie”. The respect that comes with that perception is truly wonderful. Then there’s this whole thing about becoming Disney World….

     When the kids were growing up Tina and I tried to give the kids a wide variety of exposures to the world. We took them all over and showed them as much of our country as we could. The kids have been to Maine and Maryland. They have travelled as far away as Texas and Florida. We have pictures of them bathing in the Gulf waters in Galveston and walking the humid pathways of Valley Forge Park in Pennsylvania.

     All those years vacation to our family meant going to a destination. Now suddenly two years into the empty nest I have become the destination! I am Disney World! Go me! Granted, I am not exactly Space Mountain or the Tower of Terror. I am more like It’s A Small World but the kids don’t seem to mind. Then there’s the added bonus that vacations no longer cost an arm and a leg. Hey! Maybe that’s why I can no longer lose the weight…hmm.

What changes has life brought you recently?

Two Roads To Beavers

A hundred years ago Morton Converse ran a toy factory in our town that supplied most of the country with wooden rocking horses. The toy business  gave Winchendon its nickname, “Toy Town”, and made Converse a wealthy man.

     He built a mansion in the center of town on a steep hill that overlooked the Miller’s River. His home and garden terraces ran all the way to the river’s edge and spread across to several islands on the waterway. 

    The factory burned down when I was a kid. All that is left of the mansion is a few stray concrete walls which have withstood the encroaching forest and the tides of the River.

     A few well-meaning souls have tried to push back the undergrowth and plant a garden along the edge of the road where part of the foundation still remains.  I cannot say they have met with success. But where men have failed to tame the hillside beavers have commanded the water’s edge to bow to their will.

     I have known about the beavers for a few years and have wanted to spend some time watching them. But the opportunity never presented itself , that is until my daughter Melanie’s last  visit home. She suggested that we should take some time and visit the Converse beavers. So last Thursday we did just that.

     The rain let up for a few hours in the morning. So we put on long pants to guard against the tics and the cold and set out.  We hopped the fence and headed down through the foundation garden. The grass had grown in along the side walls all but obscuring the foundation stones as we set out down the steep hill. We quickly lost the rock pathway  in the foot deep grass. Grasping onto limbs to guide us down the steep hill Melanie and I quickly realized we were not dressed for the task. The hill was  nothing but mud and grass, wet with three day’s rain.

     By the time we reached the chapel wall we had slipped several times and our jeans were soaked up to the knees.  But we had a good view of the little critters who maintained the river. We watched for quite a while despite our chilly discomfort, mostly because we dreaded the thought of climbing  back up the way we had come. That’s about when we realized we were actually standing on a muddy trail that seemed to lead further up towards town. We decided we had little to lose; So when we were finished watching the beavers build a new island we took the pathway to its end which by golly was a set of stairs that led directly to the street.  Apparently someone a hundred years ago had been bright enough to figure out that people would want to go down to the river and that perhaps there should be a better method of getting there than to repel from the back-end of the mansion.

     Of course I, being a modern guy and all, never thought once to look for a set of stairs. Oh no… if it had been my mansion I would have strung a rope from the bathroom window and said to my guests “don’t forget to flush before you climb down to the gardens!”

     Makes me wonder how many other things in life I am doing the hard way.  I hope one day I will learn the lesson” work smarter not harder.”

What lesson is life teaching you these days?

Making the Markers Matter

       I like Saturday morning sunlight better than week day sunlight.     You see, I used to spend Friday nights at my Grandparent’s camp.  I remember every Saturday I would wake up and savor for just a few moments the yellow light that poured through the chintz curtains onto the bedspreads around me.  

      Saturday mornings were always the same. Eggs and toast with orange juice followed by grocery shopping and a historic tour of Athol MA.

     On those morning drives I wrote my first poetry and I memorized the locations of Sentinel Elm, and the homesteads of the Tandys, and the Lillies. I saw almost weekly the three houses my great- great-grandfather built for his daughters and sister. I can still point out the cellar hole of the house my great-grandmother burned down while drying her sons’ clothing over the wood stove.

      On certain special Saturdays my grandparents would take a little longer to complete my education. On those Saturdays Grampa would skip his candlepin bowling and we would make the drive to Erving Where the “first Joseph” was buried.

      I can still hear Gramp’s  gravelly voice litanizing our family history. “You are Joseph Elon Lillie V but we call you the III because your mother didn’t want you to be likened to whiskey…The first Joseph was a wood cutter…father Caleb Elon… his father Caleb senior…all the way back to the revolution…Joseph’s mother-in-law was Susannah Clark they called her “Little Grandmother”…Shay’s rebellion.”

    At least that’s the way I heard it as I phased in and out of consciousness without my grandparents even knowing.

     I didn’t realize it at the time but Gram and Gramps were training me for a job that would become mine in the fullness of time. When they passed, watching over the family grave markers fell to my Aunt Joan and Uncle Walt. Now that they have moved to Seattle to live with their kids I may be the only Lillie who remembers where everyone is!

          This year I took my sister with me to check on the graves. We didn’t stay long. Talking to the dead isn’t our thing (at least not since we came to Jesus) but that really wasn’t the point. I wasn’t there to grieve. I went to make sure the markers still stood, could still be read, to show that the lives they represented still mattered.

     Maybe it’s because I am now on the edge of that phase called middle age, maybe it’s because all my kids are grown and out of the house but I find myself wanting to make things count more than ever. I don’t want to get to the end of my life and say “Well that was certainly a waste!”

     My desire to leave a legacy that matters got me thinking about what those who went before left to me:

     As I stood before my father’s marker I could still hear him chiding me “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Give me an answer you can live with.”

     What can I live with? I feel like I am just learning the answer to that now twenty years after his death.

    

     As I visited the cemeteries this year I realized that these people effected who I am, some of them without ever knowing me. One of them spoke a name that would echo down the generations to their grandson’s grandson. A “little grandmother” lost somewhere in the folds of history has birthed a family that stands for freedom and personal responsibility. Gosh, a couple of these folks have even influenced the way I look at sunlight. They mattered…at least if my life does!

     What will the markers I leave behind matter to those who come after? I want to be more than a potted geranium some grandson I never know buys at his generation’s version of Wal-Mart.

     I’ve been thinking about what I want on my tombstone should Jesus tarry (the way things look that ain’t likely but just say I get hit by a bus or something). I think I want people to say of me “He was someone who really knew how to love. Not the gushy, fake, T.V. romance, messed up love but the real Jesus type of love.”

    I want them to write this in the dash between my years.

      I want people to say “He did it. so can I!”

      As I stood at the graves of my ancestors I realized it’s not the size of the rock that matters but the making of the marker that can only be done by the living of a life.

    I am writing my gravestone as I live each day not so that people will come and leave me pretty plants but so that lives that come behind mine will be changed.

What legacy are you choosing to leave?

Helping Change Along

Things change. Nothing can stop that. Life is a river that keeps flowing. We’re in a boat that cannot find the shore to pull out of the constantly passing scenery.

     We are left with two options: Row with the current and enjoy the ride; Or fight the current and try hopelessly to keep the same scene in our sights for a while.

    I try to be a row with the current guy. I try to find the joy in every circumstance. There are certain things I wish I wasn’t losing sight of.  But who knows, this river twists and turns on itself a lot. Maybe I will get to see those certain sights, I long for, from an even better angle a little further downstream.

    In the meantime I am keeping myself really busy. I’ve decided to help change along by making where I am the best I can make it. Now that’s different from making it the best it can be. Others, I am sure, could do more with what is before me. But with what I have inside of me I am making my best.

In February I planted tomatoes and peppers. Muddy said it was too early.

  “What does she know” I said to myself.

   Apparently she knows more than me. The tomatoes have gotten a little out of hand. I can no

longer put my bedroom shades down! Good thing I live at the back of the house.

    Note to self: When helping change along always take your mother’s suggestions into consideration.

I got tired of waiting for the peppers. So I stuck some butternut squash seeds in the pots. That was the week the peppers started growing. Second note to self: When helping change along don’t rush others who don’t move at the speed you would like. You will be sorry!

     In March I decided it was time to cut down the dead and tangled brush from the side lot. I took two days off to cut down this

And this

And this

And this

In planning to remove the forest I forgot there were trees in it. Trees are big. Chopping’s hard. I’m fat. Third note to self: When helping a big change along,  don’t try to do it all in a day…little steps man…little steps!

     So I figured out I needed more time and I have taken the forest in stages.

     I chopped one day

I burned it up on two days.

I raked it clean another day.

 Then I brought in the trellis.

This probably wouldn’t have taken a whole day if I had actually planned in advance what I was going to do and shared my “infinite wisdom” with the owner of the house.

Fourth note to self : When helping change along, don’t bring big black garden ornaments and slap them in the middle of the lawn willy-nilly without a plan. It makes others nervous.                                                            

Once we made the plan the rest went pretty smoothly. I won’t be chopping down anymore forest this year. The tomatoes are getting too tall and my body needs some time to recover from all this hard work.  Fifth note to self: Before helping change along buy stock in Advil.

How are you helping change along this year?